


Playing Games

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the Confed Cup 2005. Bastian is addicted to playing games - and so is Lukas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Games

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on July 29th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> I'm eternally grateful to the lovely anglo_phile who took over beta duty from cerulean_eyes and did an awesome job! *blows kisses* I owe you a gazillion marmalade jars, really. ;-)

Lukas steps out of the shower, turning off the faucet. He snatches one of the fluffy mint-coloured towels from the handrail, drying himself off quickly, and that's when he hears the faint 'click' of the door, which means that Bastian is back from having slaughtered Kevin. And rightly, the TV's faint humdrum can be heard, too, and then the starting melody of Pro Evolution Soccer starts, the latest crazy fad amongst the computer game fanatics on the team. And when Lukas opens the door – the damp towel has been discarded into a balled-up heap in the corner – he sees Bastian sitting Indian-style in front of the TV, the PlayStation set up, and his fingers are handling the joystick with dexterity, flying over the buttons, click-click.

Lukas smiles. Bastian hasn't noticed him yet as he's too busy with resetting the match, figuring out the mistakes he made (he has told Lukas that this is the best way to get really good at any games, to redo and redo everything, until the match runs smoothly and you could do it blind anyway). It sends a pleasant shiver up his spine, because that's Bastian at his best; the same hundred-percent of unwavering concentration is directed at him, too, when they're together – well, in bed, pleasuring each other. And it's really something else, to be in the focus of the Bavarian's mind; to have that strongly muscled and yet agile body moving around and against and in him, to lose himself in it.

The t-shirt on Bastian's back has ridden up a bit, and skin is visible – even a shadowy hint of the asscrack, and Lukas, who hasn't moved from his spot near the bathroom door yet, wants to lick that spot, to feel the goose bumps spreading quickly, evoking a squirm from Bastian, and then he'd pull up the t-shirt further, up to the shoulders, the broad back exposed, and he'd nibble along the spine – something that makes Bastian giggle and blush, arching his back. Lukas likes it.

He doesn't know why he's that attracted to a guy who – by conventional means – isn't even handsome, although he could be called cute – especially with that cheeky grin. It's strange, for Lukas possesses pretty high standards when it comes to girls. Maybe it's the contrast. But then, maybe it's just that Bastian's _Bastian_, the innate charisma more than making up for the lacking model looks, and their blind understanding on the pitch is something Lukas wouldn't trade in for anything. And then there's this grin, making the greenbrown eyes – almost never lacking a wicked glint – crinkle, and Lukas just isn't able to not respond with one of his own. All in all, he only knows that he's more than lucky to have found someone like him, someone who's all that different and yet like a brother in spirit to him.

And Lukas does like it that they're not holding back at all; touching each other, hugging each other, jumping onto each other at the matches – that they're not hiding what they're to each other to some extent, although they have already had to endure some of the team mates joking about the 'dream couple', wishing them 'a good night' with leering winks, which they always laugh off or play along with, draping their arms over each other's shoulders, with Bastian whispering into Lukas' ear, warmbreathing, "Let's show 'em," before he'd show Bernd or Robert the finger. Or Kevin.

Lukas walks past Bastian to his bed, carding his fingers through Bastian's hair on the way, mussing the strands and eliciting a half-hearted "Gerroff!" from the Bavarian. He flops down on the bed, still stark naked. He wants Bastian to pounce on him, to close his mouth with his own, to sneak his hand down their bodies and enclose their cocks in his strong hand, to licknibble this certain spot on his neck that manages to drive Lukas crazy, every time. He wants Bastian to do all these things and more, and it's as if his cock can read his thoughts and has risen, filling with blood, swelling. He reaches down and holds it in his hand, stroking it lazily, feeling the foreskin slide up and down, the friction sending little sparks up his spine.

But still no Bastian – and Lukas gets impatient. He edges back towards the headboard of the bed, and then the pillow hits Bastian in the back.

"Ow! Cut it out, Pol-" and now Bastian has turned around and it's almost comical how his eyes get bigger when they witness Lukas in his state of dishabille, and the Pole can't help to grin – but it isn't just any regular grin, no, it's his special, lazy grin, the one that never fails to make Bastian blush and squirm – as it's the case now.

Lukas watches Bastian's Adam's apple work, bobbing up and down, and when the Bavarian's attention holds only him in its focus, he stops the wank-off, and raises his hand to his lips, and then he's sucking in his fingers, coating them liberally in spit, his tongue wrapping itself around each finger, and then he lets them slide from his mouth, tracing his wet lips, strings of saliva glittering. As the last finger escapes his mouth, he can't resist sucking hard on it so it slips out of his mouth with an obscene slurping sound.

"Fuck you, Lukas," is Bastian's only response, his eyes having followed Lukas' fingers' way over his torso, leaving gleaming strips, chilling in the air, and then they circle around his left nipple, slipperywet, and Lukas says, still smiling, "so why don't you?"

"Make me," and Bastian's lips curl up in a grin, now having turned wholly towards Lukas, but the joystick's still in his hands, the game momentarily paused; he's waiting for more. More, indeed; and so Lukas licks a broad swipe over his palm and his fingers, and another, and another, and his eyes close in bliss when wet warmth closes around his neglected dick, and it needs just the tiniest bit of pressure to send a jittery shiver up his body, coursing through his blood, and he sighs, "Oh yes, just like that - you, your hand down there," and he spreads his legs, exposing himself to Bastian.

His hand moves steadily, spreading the spit all over his cock, the foreskin sliding up and down in rhythm, and he's leaking; and goddamn it, Bastian's still not there, but when he opens his eyes, he sees Bastian getting up, and the midfielder's reaching down with his right hand and pressing down roughly, constricting himself in his baggy shirts and Lukas smiles lazily, "Can't wait? Me either, so if you still want to share the fun…", and his unsaid command hangs in the air while his other hand curls around his balls, cradling them and lifting them out of the way, massaging them slightly, groaning at the sensations spreading throughout his body – and then Bastian's right there, kneeling between the forward's legs, roughly shoving Lukas' hands away. The steadily accumulating pleasure is drawn forcefully to Lukas' groin as Bastian's lips slide over his head, making him whimper – god damn it – and then Bastian's hands are holding Lukas' hips down while his cheeks hollow out, drawing in more and more of Lukas' cock, and oh, it's sweet torture to watch himself disappear into Bastian, into the hotwetness, his cockhead bumping into Bastian's palate, the scrape sending sparks along Lukas' cock, and he can't help the moan escaping his lips.

Lukas wants to prolong it, but, biting down on his lips, he reasons with himself that he's a horny 20-year-old who'll be ready to go again in a few minutes, so he lets himself enjoy Bastian tongueing his foreskin, by turns rough and tender licks across his sensitive head, and just when Lukas is on the verge of giving up, letting himself spurt out of himself and into Bastian, the fucking Bavarian lets him slip out of his mouth and his cock bobs down, leaving behind a wet spot on his stomach.

"Fuck, Schweini," Lukas groans, half-heartedly bucking up against the iron grip on his hips, but Bastian shakes his head. The glint in his eyes hasn't diminished, and he licks his lips. Tasting _him_, Lukas, and he fucking snaps and before the Bavarian can tease him any further, he has closed his mouth over Bastian's, his fingers carding through the stickyhard strands. To taste himself is something he had to get accustomed to, but by now he's used to the bitterness and suddenly, he's reminded of that time they had cracked open two tins of pineapple slices, eating them – and feeding each other with them amongst snorts and laughter and lewd jokes, leaving behind quite a mess – and then sixty-nining, all just because Bastian'd heard somewhere that it would make their juice taste sweeter.

It did, by the way, and Lukas can't help smiling into their kiss, his grip on Bastian's hair loosening a bit, the urgency in his groin leaving up a bit, but just a _bit_ \- it's still there, and he longs for Bastian's mouth back on his dick as the midfielder gives the best blow-jobs Lukas has ever gotten, and he doubts that this will ever change.

He doesn't know why that is so; he hasn't actually got anyone to compare Bastian to. Sure, he has gotten blowjobs from girls, but they're in a different league, probably because of their sex, but really, they do it different than guys – or, well, Bastian. The both of them, they just _fit_, Lukas can't explain it better. Once Bastian showed him articles on the net he's found surfing, proclaiming them a dream couple and, with tongue-in-cheek, insinuating something more, and they had to laugh at that.

Their kiss, having started out fiercedemanding, has now slowed down, although they're still fighting for dominance - but with them, it's not really an issue. They know of the other one's strengths and weaknesses, so they don't bother proving it again and again; they prefer little reminders, like a quick grin, or an unexpected lick or bite. But then Bastian raises himself up, ending it, and Lukas' hands lose their hold on Bastian's hair. Just when Lukas wants to reach out again, to dive into Bastian's wetwarm mouth again, Bastian pulls his t-shirt over his head. Lukas whistles a stripping tune, chuckles when Bastian rolls his eyes.

"You don't get that in the Bayern locker room?", he grins, splaying his hands on Bastian's hardmuscled thighs, and "Poldi, we do things differently in Munich – we know what a rep Cologne has," Bastian retorts, having disposed of the t-shirt rather inelegantly – it landed on the dustbin –, and then Lukas' deft fingers have found the zipper and draw it down carefully and then he's trailing the outline of the Bavarian's erection with his fingertips catching in the damp cotton fabric. Bastian bucks forward, into Lukas' hands, breathing heavily, and his hands are twisting the fabric of the sheets, whiteknuckling. Licking his lower lip, Lukas knows that Bastian's not averse to be displayed like this, but rather enjoys showing off these abs of his, the smooth chest – he shaves it – and the thin happy trail disappearing into his red boxers. Bayern red, Lukas thinks, and has to laugh a bit.

Bastian raises an eyebrow at him. "Care to share the joke?"

"Maybe," and Lukas slides the sides of the fly apart, exposing more of that beautiful erection straining under the red fabric to him. A dark stain is spreading near the top, and Lukas thinks about how it'd taste if he'd suck on it, ever so slightly, his teeth grazing the fabric carefully, evoking half-gasps and moans from Bastian, and the sweetbitter taste would explode on his tongue, filling all his senses with _Bastian_, and he'd –

no, he'll save that for later, but he sees Bastian's eyes darken and knows that the Bavarian has taken a good guess at what he was thinking right now, and there are definitely advantages to this whole best mates sort of thing.

But Lukas doesn't do any of it, instead he just grins at the Bavarian and then he slides Bastian's shorts with the boxers down his behind, stopping right at his upper thighs, his hands getting a good grasp. There is no doubting it; Bastian has a great arse, and Lukas can't resist pinching or swatting it whenever they're horsing around. Or just bumping into Bastian, feeling these round curves against his groin, and knowing that Bastian knows about his not-so-accidental clumsiness.

And now Bastian bends forward, his hands sliding up Lukas' sides, up to his armpits, and then they're on his shoulders, and Lukas sighs into Bastian's mouth closing over his, succumbing to Bastian's tongue delving into his mouth, hard, mimicking fucking him, and damn it if Bastian's not entirely too good at this.

Their legs entangle – somewhat hindered by the remaining shorts and boxers – and just when Lukas slides a hand around into the waistband so he can slide boxers carefully over Bastian's erection, someone knocks.

On the door.

"Bastian?", and damn it, it is _Micha_, and they stare at each other, the kiss broken, and it's as if time has solidified, enveloping them – and then they scramble out of bed, Bastian hitching up his boxers and shorts and Lukas hurries to the bathroom, but not without snatching up the discarded t-shirt from the dustbin next to the door and throwing it at Bastian's head while the Bavarian tries to smooth down the bunched-up covers.

"Anyone in there?", again Micha, and Bastian answers, "Yeah, a sec, wait," and he's pulling the t-shirt over his head, smoothing it over his boxers so that the looseness will at least hide some of the waning arousal. "Okay?" he whispers, and Lukas nods, retying the towel around his middle, bunching it up over his still half-hard cock, and then Bastian opens the door.

Micha is standing there, in casual attire – a t-shirt and training shorts, flip-flops. "Oh, Lukas, you're there, too."

Lukas smiles at him. "Yeah, just took a shower."

"I see. Anyway," and Micha jerks his head towards the hall, to where the stairways and the elevators are, "there's an official team photo shoot in half an hour, have you forgotten it?"

"Must have," Bastian grins, nodding towards the Playstation set-up, "you know what we're like." Lukas can't help snickering at that one, "yeah, exactly."

Bastian turns and grins at him. "Well, it was _your_ fault, as I might remind you."

Lukas returns the grin. "You're just too weak to withstand me."

"I don't care who started what, just be down in time, boys, will you?", Micha says, every inch the commanding captain, but the smile in his eyes defeats that description somewhat.

"Oh, Micha, come on. You were young once, too, weren't you?", Bastian says, still grinning.

"Young, yes, but as crazy as you both are? No," Micha says, returning the grin, and then he turns, "and Lukas, dress up a bit _more_ if you want to be presentable."

"Hey, I could be the new sex symbol of the team," Lukas says. "Taking off some of the load off your shoulders, like."

The only answer is an amused snort by Micha, and then he's gone.

Bastian closes the door and turns, leaning back against the smooth wood. He shakes his head, a slight grin still gracing his lips.

"Damn, that was close."

"Yeah, it was," Lukas grins, walking over to the wardrobe and pulling out a fresh t-shirt to wear, and clean sweaters, and Bastian follows suit. Throwing the clothes on the unused bed – officially Lukas' bed, but they don't use it – they dress up quickly, and a quick side-look of Lukas confirms that Bastian's dick has gone back to its normal state, as has his, and "just wait until later, Poldi," and he chuckles in answer, blushing slightly at Bastian having caught him checking the midfielder out.

In the bathroom, it gets a bit cramped as they juggle each other for the best spot in front of the mirror, but they get their hair done amongst nudges and shoves, complaining about the other's apparent clumsiness, and soon they are out of the room, with five minutes to spare.

***

And later, when the photo shoot is done and another team conference's been called and done with in an hour, they'll be back in the room and then they'll fool around some more just as horny 20-something guys are wont to do, and Bastian will finish what he started, his hotwet mouth enclosing Lukas' cock and Lukas will arch up like a bow that's strung so strongly that it's about to break, just that close, and there'll be a perfect set of his teeth imprinted in that fleshy mound of his thumb, saliva smeared over glaring red when he'll come back into himself, breathing heavily.

Bastian, on the other hand, will feel tiny sweatdrops breaking out all over his skin as Lukas' tongue starts exploring the area behind his balls, lower and lower until they're _there_, and then he'll get turned onto his stomach, his almost painful hard-on pressing against his lower belly, spreading hot wetness, and he'll twist and turn his head into the pillow, wanting Lukas to stop what he's doing and yet not, and when the tongue slips in, he'll scream into the pillow, mouthing the fine texture, seeing stars explode in front of his eyes, in all colours of the rainbow and some, sparks sizzlingrushing through his shaking body like a great torrent and dissolving him entirely.

And then they'll rest for a while, soft snores echoing and sweatylanky limbs entangled and Lukas will think that he's a damn fucking lucky guy and when he'll hear, "get off me, you're too fucking heavy and it's too warm," sleepygrumbly, he'll know that Bastian's been reading his mind, and then he'll stumble over to his bed, but not without having delivered a slap to Bastian's ass, eliciting a squeak which will make him go to sleep with a small smile on his lips.


End file.
